The Dancer
by Sternenstaub28
Summary: A short drabble about the day of a Slave in ancient Arlathan.


The dancer had been gifted to the engagement of the current favourite of Mythal.

The bride was a shrill elvhen with a wide yellow feathery skirt swishing in every way and making everybody else dodge her. She was not an ugly one but not the most beautiful being on earth as well. Of course the dancer was not the one to make these observations, it was in no way his place to even look in the bride´s face, she was his new mistress after all. He was just a favoured slave, known for his graceful dancing and the magic intertwined to awake images to live while he performed.

He hoped this betrothal would be one of the less exciting ones. The bride and the groom were not in love and their parents were even related in a way. Both stood far away from each other looking sourly.

At least the bride did until she saw his performance.

He had danced about love and laughter and happiness. The spirits had helped him to call up ancient memories of old tales. He had to say it was one of his better performances and for a short time he even had something like fun. Dancing was the only time he felt free, all the harder was the awakening once his dance ended and he had to face reality once again. He was but a slave and his masters were only favouring him as long as he could perform.

His blood chilled, attention from a free elvhen was never a good thing for a slave. He was sick of being treated like a glorious pet but he had no choice. The canary bride hunted him all but down after his performance.

The yellow canary found him and gushed over his performance in her shrill voice. He bowed politely and thanked her for her praise unworthy of a lowly slave. She did not want to let him go after that. And he knew what that meant. He had gained another admirer that saw him as a trophy for future stories and a notch on the bedpost.

She looked at him all over, touching him whenever she felt like it, made him accompany her all night, not caring about the furious look her future husband glared in his direction. She gave him exquisite food and wine, petting his head like you would a dog´s. And the dancer would have liked to growl like a dog at some of those moments. Could those poncy elvhen not simply keep their hands to their own? He was sick of it.

After the evening had become night the canary still did not let him go. She was looking at his arms and chest and tights more with every minute and led him into a more secluded part of the festival salon. Now he knew he had to fear more than just a few wandering hands and the treatment of a favoured pet.

The canary shoved him into an alcove roughly and started kissing him hard. Not once asking or caring about him. He simply went slack, like he had been taught to. Every graceful muscle and posture suddenly vanished and just an empty puppet remained. His mind hid in the deepest parts of him and would not come out again until he would have been left alone.

At first the canary did not mind or notice his lacking response or maybe she never expected it but after a few minutes and a lot of groping and wandering hands she hissed at him. "What is wrong with you?" The canary noticed his empty expression and simply sighed. "Maybe I should not have done that at the night of my engagement, no matter how much I dislike my groom. Go find my mother in the gardens." she commanded.

The dancer knew he should have responded and maybe the lady would have been happier with him. He feared what her mother would do with him now. Surely he was not send there because she needed someone to pour her tea.

The canary´s mother was a pretty middle aged elvhen woman, maybe around 800 years from what he could tell. She wore a dress similar to her daughter´s, all feathery and swishy but it was in a descent lake blue and not shrill yellow. The woman reminded him more of a kingfisher than a canary. She saw his bruised lips and still empty expression and took him to a secluded room not fit for a slave. He dreaded what would happen now. Secluded rooms and angry matrons were never a good combination. She bade him to sit down on the fancy bed and still looked angry even though he followed her every command. He really could not infuriate another family member.

The kingfisher sighed, once he had sat down and she closed the door with magic. "You are not to talk about what has happened or the engagement might be called off. If you do as I say, I will help you as well." The dancer was confused, why was she bargaining with him? He was a slave, he did not have a choice in things. He nodded slowly and tried standing up for a curtsy, "Of course, madam." but was pushed down on the bed before he even got up all the way.

Here it comes, he thought.

But she did not push him down even further and did not start to strip his uniform marking him one of mythals dancer´s though now he was her´s. She just made him sit down again. "This engagement is very important for our family and I don´t want blood on my hands on this happy day." His face paled considerably at her words.

"My daughter acted rashly and thoughtless today. You are too much of a danger to us. I will send you far away in a remote village. One of my sisters is living there. I will tell her you are one of the new household servants." His ears perked up slightly at that, she did not call him a slave right now.

His surprise must have shown even if he was skilled in maintaining a straight face. Every slave was, if he wanted to survive.

The kingfisher smiled at him but it did not reach her eyes. "You will never be worth quite as much as we are, but I am willing to pay for your silence." He would be paid and would not have to dance anymore for an audience looking at him like a piece of meat on display. He nodded once, slowly. "I want you gone before the day begins." the kingfisher simply ordered. And the dancer knew, maybe, his life would change a little.


End file.
